


Delirium

by anexcessoffeels (headbuttingbears)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Amnesia, Bad Spanish, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, I cannot stress the Bad Spanish tag enough, I'm Sorry, Medical Inaccuracies, Medicinal Drug Use, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Coital Cuddling, Public Display of Affection, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headbuttingbears/pseuds/anexcessoffeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't respond well to anesthesia." | Barba's secret soft side emerges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elithewho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/gifts).



> Jenny's only to blame for encouraging me when I suggested this idea in the first place.
> 
> Inspired by [these two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txqiwrbYGrs) [classic videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqebEymqFS8) and my profound desire to write glop with plenty of Spanish. Bad Spanish, undoubtedly. Any errors - medical, dental or linguistic - are mine alone.

"Frannie. Frannie, get up." Rollins tugged futilely at the corner of the sheet, grimacing when the dog snuggled deeper into the bed linens, tail wagging. What was it about pets and dirty laundry? But if this was the most difficult thing she did all day then Rollins wasn't about to complain.

She was wondering how to forcibly roll Frannie out of the sheet burrito she'd somehow made when her phone went off. Rollins thumbed it on as she resumed tugging the sheet, smiling at the playful growls coming from the pile. "Hello?"

"Amanda, hey." There was a piercing wail coming from Liv's end that made Rollins wince and hold the phone away from her ear.

"Sounds like your day off is going well," Rollins said.

Liv made an exhausted noise that could've doubled as a _Walking Dead_ zombie moan. "Oh yeah, real great. Be grateful you don't have ear problems. Or a child with ear problems."

"Already there," Rollins said, just in time for the wailing to hit a higher pitch. "Is there anything I can do?" She wasn't sure _what_ that would be, but she had to offer.

"Actually, that's why I'm calling," Liv replied. There was a rattling sound; the wailing dropped a decibel. "This would be a huge favor-"

"Sure. Shoot." Rollins gave up on the sheets. Let Frannie stay in there all day, at least she wasn't screaming like a banshee.

Liv didn't hesitate to take advantage of her blind agreement. "Can you pick Barba up from the dentist's? I said I would but I don't want to leave Noah alone, and I doubt he'd appreciate being trapped in a car with a screaming toddler."

Rollins frowned. It was so… Mundane. Normally when someone on the squad asked for a favor it was a little more exotic. _Pretend you didn't hear me threaten that abusive husband. Hold onto this evidence for me. Ask your sources if they know X._ That kind of thing. "Sure. Okay."

"Thanks," Liv said, sighing in relief before giving her the address for a place in the Bronx, surprising her. She'd expected somewhere in Midtown. "I appreciate it, and I'm sure he will too."

Rollins gave what she thought was Frannie's butt a light smack through the sheet, startling her, and grinned. "No problem. Anything for the ADA."

 

The drive was long enough that Rollins remembered why nobody wanted to own a car in New York, but she made it for the time Liv had specified despite a bit of hunting. Kitty-corner to a laundromat, the office was a little place squashed between a bridal store and a podiatrist's. They shared a long bright blue awning and streetside parking, half of it taken up by a Con Ed truck, but there was space enough for Rollins to risk it.

A bell jangled as she pushed open the door and took in the tidy reception area, noting the five seated people turning as one to stare at her like she was vastly more interesting than the small flatscreen TV showing an ad for toothpaste.

"Do you have an appointment?" The skinny woman in scrubs seated behind the desk perked up at her approach, flashing a perfect white smile.

"Uh, no," she said, feeling irrationally nervous. She chalked it up to the people watching her like hungry vultures. "I'm here to pick someone up? Rafael Barba. I was told-"

"Oh yes," the woman interrupted, rising and moving around the desk. "Let me check to see if he's ready to go. I'll be right back."

Rollins, bemused, tucked her hands in her pockets and leaned against the desk. The woman hadn't even asked for her name or any ID. Was that normal? It seemed sort of… Unsafe. But then again it wasn't like he was a _child_ …

She was still wondering about best practices when the woman came back alone, waving her forward.

"The doctor thought it best to keep him back here after surgery," the woman said. "But he's ready to go home."

Surgery? Liv hadn't mentioned anything about surgery. "I thought he was just…" She had no idea what she'd expected. Liv hadn't gone into detail and she hadn't asked any questions beyond where and when.

"Oh no, don't worry," the woman said, eyebrows comically high as she sought to reassure her. "He's fine, but he had a rather strong reaction to the anesthesia and it's still wearing off. Don't be surprised if he's a bit confused."

Rollins barely had time to digest that when the woman knocked on one of the doors before opening it and stepping in, leaving Rollins to linger awkwardly in the narrow hallway, listening to muffled conversation.

"Sorry, come in!" The woman – receptionist? Assistant? Nurse? – gestured her forward. "You can come in."

A tall man in a white coat who she could only assume was the dentist shifted to one side, revealing Barba seated on the dental chair.

Rollins drew nearer, looking for signs of confusion. There _was_ something strange about him, but she couldn't figure out what. He was holding a small wrapped ice bag to the side of his jaw and watching the dentist shuffle through paperwork with a bland interest, eyes a bit glassy. "So he's okay?"

Whatever the dentist was going to say was interrupted by Barba noticing her. His face – slightly flushed and swollen on the one side – lit up, a smile breaking across it that Rollins could only describe as sweet. Not a word she'd ever imagined applying to the counselor. "Amanda."

Amanda? She smiled, not knowing how else to respond to his happy tone as she looked to the dentist. "What's going on?"

Doctor James Meehan, according to the name stitched on the chest of his lab coat, scratched the side of his nose before scribbling something on a prescription pad. "Mr. Barba is still emerging from the anesthesia. Are you his…"

"We work together," she said, before feeling something brush the back of her hand. She looked down, bewildered by the sight of Barba rubbing her hand lightly with his fingers before grasping it. His hand, wrapped around hers, was icy cold but there was no sign of discomfort in his face. Much the opposite – he looked overjoyed. "Hello," she said, thoroughly confused. "How are you?"

"Hi," he said, voice shy as he shrugged, swinging her hand slightly. "You came to get me?"

"Yeah," she said. "Somebody had to."

He blinked slowly, gazing up at her with a disturbingly soppy expression. "Thank you." The crinkles around his eyes were almost charming. "Me alegra que vinieras, querida."[1]

What the fuck?

Meehan, oblivious, handed her a couple of sheets of paper. "These are post-op instructions – nothing unusual, try to keep him away from coffee for a bit, be careful with extremely hot or extremely cold foods – and a prescription for an anti-inflammatory if the pain gets too bad."

"Alright," Rollins said, clutching the papers. "Is this whole…" She tried to think of a delicate way to phrase her question. It was difficult to focus with Barba stroking her hand with his thumb and murmuring to himself like a lovebird alone in a cage. "How long is he going to be out of it?"

"Eh." Meehan sounded far less concerned than she thought the situation merited. "A couple of hours. Let him sleep it off."

"Sleep. Okay." She tugged on Barba's hand. "Come on, let's get going."

He got up, swaying and blinking hard, gripping her hand tight as she steadied him, papers crinkling against his dark green plaid – plaid? Barba owned anything with plaid that wasn't a necktie? – shirt. "Whoa," he said, eyes wide as he stared at her before snickering. He wasn't wearing a suit for once – that had to be it. That's why he looked so strange. Jeans and a plaid shirt were the reason, not his innocently happy expression.

Excellent detective work right there, she thought. Worthy of a commendation.

The shirt really brought out his eyes.

"You're tripping, aren't you?" She tried to pull away to no avail as he nodded, gaze fixed on her face. Okay, so they were going to hold hands for a while. That was fine. Weird but fine. At least he wasn't one of those guys with sweaty palms and a deathgrip.

"Don't forget your jacket," the assistant said, giving Barba a warm smile that he didn't notice at all because he was too busy turning Rollins's hand side to side, staring at God only knew what.

She tapped his shoulder with her closed fist, getting his attention. "Jacket," she said, nodding to it when he didn't respond.

"Oh." He let her go reluctantly to take his jacket and hug it to his chest instead of putting it on.

Rollins rolled her eyes, amused despite herself. "Alright, let's go." She led the way back to the front room, full of sunlight that made Barba squint and shield his eyes with a slow-moving hand.

Remembering the brisk wind, Rollins stopped him before he could wander outside. "You'll want to bundle up, it's cold out there," she said, folding the papers up and shoving them in her coat pocket.

Visibly confused, Barba looked from his jacket to the ice bag in his full hand.

Not for the last time, she rolled her eyes. "Give me that."

Again, that goopy smile, more grateful this time. "Thank you, cariño," he said before dragging his jacket on, taking far longer than normal and looking disproportionately proud of himself once he'd managed it.[2]

His collar was twisted, tucked under; she fixed it unthinkingly, freezing when he gripped her hand again and kissed the inside of her wrist before she could move away. "Pensé que los ángeles tenían alas, yet here you are without them, looking after me."[3]

"Uhhhhhh," she said eloquently, face hot as he pressed her palm to his cheek. The waiting room vultures were staring more intently than ever.

"Or maybe I'm dead. ¿Pensé que el paraíso estaba más al norte?" he continued, a hint of a laugh in his surprisingly intimate voice, breath warm on her skin.[4]

Rollins knew a pick-up line when she heard one, even if it wasn't in a language she spoke fluently. She didn't need the tip-off of giggling from their audience. Tugging her hand free, she passed him back the ice bag so he'd have something to hold before pushing the door open. "Okay, that's enough of that. Settle down, Romeo."

"You're right, dulzura, I'm sorry," Barba said, shocking her further.[5] She was right? _She_ was right? "Not in public."

The _fuck?_

She thought the car ride there had been long. Every light at every intersection was red, construction was in full swing, and every neighborhood was hosting a parade. Three blocks of forward progress meant sitting idle for minutes at a time. It was an immensely frustrating experience.

Unless you were Barba. Ice bag returned to his face, he rode shotgun, content to observe her rather than the surrounding gridlock. The radio was on low, and for a while she'd thought that was where the musical sound was coming from, but after checking to see how he was holding up she'd realized he was… Humming. Well, more than humming. Singing to himself, and he didn't stop even when she stared at him; did he realize he was doing it? Rollins found herself enjoying the dulcet quality of his voice, but after the third _amor_ she had a sneaking suspicion of what the subject was.

His behavior was completely baffling. The endearments, the lovey-dovey looks – she hadn't thought Barba capable of it. Sure, she'd known all along he couldn't be _half_ the unfeeling hardass he pretended to be – she'd been on the receiving end of his empathy, seen him interact with victims often enough to glimpse a sensitive side he hid as much as possible. That it was buried deep – very, very deep – was totally explicable. You couldn't be a Care Bear and prosecute sex crimes for a living. But that was different. That wasn't… Whatever this was.

What the hell had they given him in that dental office? Maybe she should put in a call to Narcotics later.

"Are you coming home with me?" he asked suddenly, leaving off from his unconscious serenade.

"I'm _taking_ you home, yes," Rollins said carefully, inching the car forward. "If we ever get out of this traffic. Sorry it's taking so long."

He let out a long, wistful sigh. "Cada hora que paso contigo me parece un segundo."[6]

"Sure," she said, only grasping about a third of that. She tucked her hair behind her ear, deliberately casual when she asked, "Liv was supposed to pick you up, remember?"

He obviously did not remember at all. "Liv's a good friend," he enthused.

"Yeah, she is." Rollins tapped the steering wheel. "I bet you would've been like this with her too, right?"

" _Never_ ," he said, dropping the ice bag onto the dashboard to touch her knee, leaning toward her as much as his seatbelt would allow. "Never, mi amor. We're friends, but te adoro, sólo puedo pensar en ti…"[7] His Spanish grew more rapid, more distressed, and she finally put a stop to it by gripping his hand where it lay on her knee.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," she interrupted, mind working over the handful of words he'd uttered that she understood. "Forget I said anything. I didn't mean to… Imply. Anything. About you two."

He squeezed her hand, calmed. Great, back to holding hands. Alright. His was still cold. "Really, mi tesoro, how could you think that? Eres mi todo, I don't want anyone else."[8]

"That's… Nice to know." She turned slowly back to stare out the windshield, watching the couple fighting in the taxi ahead of them. "Barba, who do you think I am?"

"I know exactly who you are," he said, sitting back in the seat, head tilted as he let out another tender sigh. "Amanda Rollins. El amor de mi vida."[9]

"Oh boy," she said. If he hadn't been clinging to her hand she would've turned up the radio, eager to see if she could chase away his words with auto-tuned pop music, but no such luck.

"Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles," he resumed crooning.[10]

 

He tripped getting out of the car. That was the only reason she was standing in the elevator with Barba's arm around her shoulders. He wasn't holding her close, he was keeping his balance. Mostly. And humming. Again.

She'd pulled into an empty visitor's spot in the underground parking garage at his building, opened the passenger side door when he hadn't moved, and watched, horrified, when his toe had caught on the edge of the doorframe and he'd nearly face-planted into the concrete floor.

Rollins caught him, of course. She was standing right next to him, it had been instinct to lunge forward and grab him. "Careful!"

His hands were huge on her forearms where he'd fetched up against her. "Are you okay?" His forehead was wrinkled with concern.

" _I'm_ fine," she said. "Are you? You tripped."

He righted himself, giving his feet a betrayed glare before his expression cleared as he swept a stray lock of hair from her face. "Big feet," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

They were that _._ "Big drugs, more like," she muttered, stepping back only to have to dart forward again when he started to list to one side. "Alright, sugar-" she cringed, knowing that would just add fuel to the fire. "C'mon, buddy, we're almost home, don't drop on me now," she said quickly, hoping _home_ would be what he chose to focus on.

"I do feel kind of dizzy," he admitted sheepishly as she keyed on the car alarm and dragged his arm over her shoulders before slowly proceeding towards the elevator. Barba pressed his fingers into the curve of her shoulder, firmly enough that she could feel it through her winter coat. "Debes me dejas sin aliento; será mejor que sabe CPR," he murmured, pressing his face to her hair.[11]

Rollins laughed shakily, impressed despite herself. "I have no idea what you just said but I bet you thought it was _real_ smooth, didn't you?"

He giggled. _Giggled_. It was as endearing as it was bizarre. She felt like _she_ was the one who'd tripped. Tripped and fallen into an alternate universe where Barba was some kind of touchy-feely leading man in a low-key romantic telenovela instead of a crabby over-caffeinated single workaholic.

_Was_ he single? Rollins was fairly certain he was single. Granted, she clearly didn't know much about him, but surely she'd know if- She was thinking too hard about this.

"Hueles bien," he said, nuzzling her again.[12] "Fantástica, en realidad."[13]

The elevator was not moving fast enough. "Mm," she said noncommittally, ignoring how minty his breath was. Shouldn't have come as a surprise that the toothpaste was as strong as the drugs. She needed to get a referral; her breath had never been that fresh post-op.

A ding, and she exhaled in relief as the doors slid open, just in time for her to pretend a humming Barba hadn't pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head. She led him forward down the hall, struggling not to think about how she hadn't been on the receiving end of so much affection in months. Years, really. Amaro had never been such a sap. "Which one's yours?"

"Did you forget already? I forgive you." Barba rattled off the apartment number; not too far away, she saw after glancing at the closest door. He dug his keys out from his jacket pocket, flipping through them slowly until he found the right one, holding it up triumphantly before slipping it into the lock.

His apartment was… Nice. Neat. Big. Nothing unexpected, she decided as she helped him in. Dump him on the bed, leave the dentist's papers, run. Simple enough plan, and it seemed to be going well until they reached his bedroom.

"¿Quédata conmigo?"[14] He dragged his arm from around her shoulders to crowd her up against the wall next to a low dresser, ducking his head to kiss her cheek. "Please, Amanda. Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo. Estoy hambriento de tu risa resbalada. No hay palabras para describir lo que siento en su presencia."[15]

She twisted away when he tried to kiss her again, her breathing gone fast at the roughness of his voice, the naked desperation that didn't need to be translated. But still, to her relief, he went easily enough when she pushed him away. "Come on, Barba, not now." The bed was mere feet away; she just had to get him in it and she could leave. Go home and take a cold shower. "You heard what Doctor Meehan said, you need your sleep."

He made a forlorn noise but stumbled back when she gave him another nudge. "I know, mi angel," he said, shucking his jacket and tossing it to a distant chair, missing it by a mile. He tried to kick off his shoes and lost his balance, flopping onto the unmade bed. It should not have been remotely endearing. Nor should it have been attractive when he settled into a sprawl, eyes intent and locked on hers. "Quiero que seas mío. Quiero ser tuya. Quiero hacerte el amor."[16]

She understood about four of those words and the meaning she cobbled together made her eye him against her will. Jeans tight over his thighs, shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, sheets rucked up beneath him like they'd already had a roll around in the bed. And the _look_ he was giving her, promising the kind of hot and heavy action she hadn't gotten in a while… But she couldn't miss how shiny his eyes were, how red his face was – he'd left the ice bag in her car. Because he'd forgotten it. _Because he was high as shit._

This was not the Barba she knew. The Barba she knew would not be telling her he wanted the love. Or her love. Her Spanish was less poetry, more _do you want a lawyer_.

Rollins shook her head before stepping closer; he sat up in anticipation. She was painfully aware she was making an enormous mistake when she reached out and rubbed a hand over his head. His short hair was free of product for once, downy against her fingers, and she couldn't miss how his eyes slid closed at her touch. "Not today, sugar."

"Me vuelves loco," he whispered, doing his level best to eyefuck her as he licked his lip.[17]

Yep, time to go. Rollins pulled away, backing up to the bedroom door and holding her hands out, like he was a dog she had to convince to stay put. "Just… Get some sleep. I'll call you later to check up, okay?"

She'd never imagined Barba looking so sad and pathetic. He collapsed back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. "If you insist, mi reina. ¡Te echo de menos ya!" he lamented.[18]

"Sounds good," she said, peeking around the bedroom door as she eased it shut, but the only thing that followed her out was his lovesick warbling. Papers on the kitchen island – wow, granite countertops, nice – and she was out the front door, wishing she could lock it. Realized all she had to do was slip the key off the fob and use it before shoving it back under the door, and she did just that.

With a sense of satisfaction over a job relatively well-done, Rollins stood waiting for the elevator, carefully not thinking about anything that had happened. How weird it had all been. How much she hadn't liked it. Because if she _had_ liked it then she'd be a bad… Colleague. Because that's what they were. _All_ they were. Colleagues. And Barba hadn't been in his right mind! Enjoying anything he'd done – the tender looks, the casual displays of affection, the _Spanish_ , God, the constant Spanish, no one who just underwent dental surgery should have been able to talk so much, it was inhuman – would be wrong. Very wrong.

Rollins waited until she got home to start Googling phonetic spellings of what she could remember, but only because she didn't get any reception in the parking garage.

 

* * *

  

[1] I'm happy you came, darling.

[2] Sweetheart

[3] I thought angels had wings.

[4] I thought paradise was further north?

[5] Honey

[6] Each hour that passes with you feels like a second.

[7] My love; I adore you; I can only think of you.

[8] My treasure; you're my everything.

[9] The love of my life.

[10] "Forbidden love" they murmur in the streets.

[11] You must take my breath away; I hope you know CPR.

[12] You smell good.

[13] Fantastic, actually.

[14] Stay with me?

[15] I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. I hunger for your sleek laugh. There are no words to describe how I feel in your presence.

[16] I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I want to make love to you.

[17] You drive me crazy.

[18] My queen; I miss you already!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry is from Pablo Neruda's "Sonnet XI." Song lyrics from Selena's "Amor Prohibido (Forbidden Love)."


	2. Chapter 2

It was too close to call on what exactly woke Barba up, the phone vibrating in his back pocket or the ache in his jaw. Flat on his stomach, fully dressed and too warm for it. His brain needed to switch on before he figured out how to make the buzzing next to his ass stop.

"Ow," he groaned, fumbling his phone out of his jeans and hitting the call button without checking the display, balancing it on the side of his face that didn't hurt so he wouldn't have to hold it. "Barba."

"Hi."

He woke up a bit more at the sound of Rollins's voice, phone sliding so he had to grab it. "What's wrong?" She never called him unless it was work-related. "You haven't arrested another Central Park flasher, have you?"

"No! No, relax," she laughed. "I was just… Calling to see how you are."

He rolled over, blinking up at the ceiling in the early evening gloom. "I'm fine," he said cautiously, rubbing his sore jaw. Almost asked _why do you care_ but didn't because that would have come out far ruder than he wanted to be to her. "How are you?" he asked instead, mind working sluggishly. If she hadn't arrested anyone and didn't need him to come in, what else could it be? Did she want a favor? Was she just feeling him out before asking? Sadly, he couldn't think of any other reasons she'd call. They didn't even have any ongoing cases together at the moment. For once.

" _I'm_ fine," she said, giving him a strange sense of déjà vu. Silence except for the barely detectable sound of her breathing; if he closed his eyes it would be like she was in the room with him.

He didn't close his eyes. He was warm enough already.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" she said abruptly.

A chill went through him. "I…" Woke up late, groceries, drycleaning, dentist appointment, nap? He didn't take naps except at the office.

Dentist appointment. Getting a lift home. Sleeping. Sleeping a lot, judging by the quality of light in the bedroom.

"You picked me up, didn't you," he guessed. He'd asked Liv earlier in the week, feeling guilty about it, but no one else had been available and besides, she owed him for… For a lot of times, really.

"Noah problems," Rollins said. "She asked me to fill in."

Explanation enough for Liv's absence, but he couldn't shake the unease. "I trust _I_ didn't give you any problems."

She made a strange noise, almost a laugh but not quite, unsettling him further. "No, no… Problems. You were very…"

A nervous sweat broke out over his body. He'd done something. They'd probably gassed him at the dentist's instead of giving him a local and like always he'd had a bad reaction to it. That's why he thought Liv was a good ask – she was so stolid, so practical, that anything he would've thrown at her would have been like water off a duck's back.

"I'll pay for the dry-cleaning," he blurted out. College all over again, hurling on Daya Martinez at Homecoming after getting his wisdom teeth out. "Or detailing. Whatever's required, just send me the bill and-"

"What? No," she interrupted. "You didn't- Barba, you didn't puke in my car. Or on me. Or on anyone else, if that's what you're worried about."

"Huh. Unusual for me given the circumstances," he said, before wincing. Rollins did not need to know he was a puker. She was not interested. She did not care. And it was not attractive. But if he hadn't hurled, then… What _had_ he done if not embarrassed himself in that particular way?

"Lightweight," she said, smile audible. Teasing him? Fine, that was… Fine.

"I've never handled anesthesia very well," he admitted, rolling back onto his side, enjoying talking about nothing for a change. Well, nothing important. Most of his monthly minutes went to horror story material, it was nice to use a few of them up on meaningless chatter with… Just in general.

"I don't have a problem with it, just the flavored toothpastes they use," she shared in turn. "The tropical one? Disgusting. Tastes like my misspent youth."

He barked a laugh but couldn't agree. "Chocolate. Chocolate's way worse. It's like they tried explaining the taste to an alien and that's what they came up with. Mint's the only one-"

"That's tolerable," she finished. They fell into a more comfortable silence this time; he didn't mind it. "Anyway, I should let you go," Rollins said finally. "Get more sleep. You were really- I just wanted to check to see how you are? And you're fine, so…"

He was really _what_? What wasn't she telling him? "Rollins, did I…" He didn't know how to ask. Was afraid to, if he was being completely honest. But he didn't grow up a coward; when in doubt, simplicity. "Did I do something…" He couldn't decide between _inappropriate_ , _untoward_ , or the straight-forward _to make an ass out of myself and permanently damage your opinion of me._

The quiet from her end of the line just made it worse.

"Rollins?" He pressed his face into the cooler pillow. "Stop torturing me," he muttered.

A snort. "I'm sorry, that was mean of me," she said apologetically, assuaging most of his concern instantly. "I was just thinking how I should have recorded some of it. For posterity, you know?"

Barba looked past the mound of pillow. "What."

"Do you do karaoke? You have a lovely singing voice," she said, then, more mischievous than ever: "We should get you on stage sometime. Maybe after a couple of drinks."

He pushed himself up from the pillow. " _What?_ "

She laughed, carefree and wholly at his expense, ignorant of the mess of emotions she was stirring up in him. Anxiety and embarrassment and pleasure at being complimented, all rolled together with something else. Something that came from talking to Rollins alone, which rarely happened, and about something unrelated to work, which _never_ happened. "Selena, Barba? I had no idea," she murmured before snickering again. "Your papers are in the kitchen. I'll see you later."

"Wait, Rol- Damn it." Barba looked at the phone after she hung up on him before tapping it against his mouth. Selena? He didn't know any Selena songs.

Did he?

 

An ice bag plopped down onto the open file Barba was reviewing, startling him.

"You forgot this," Rollins said, clearly delighted at having successfully snuck up on him.

It was room temperature and pleasantly squishy in his hand when he picked it up. "Thanks? I don't-"

"From the other day. I thought you might want it back," she said, nodding to one of the chairs before his desk. "May I?"

"Of course." He tossed the bag from hand to hand, confident there was another shoe waiting to drop but not resenting it. Her face was a more than welcome change of pace from crime scene photos. Business casual with her hair up, badge clipped to her belt; she was on the clock. "You didn't come all the way down here just to return a ten-dollar ice bag, did you."

She paused in making herself comfortable. "What, I can't pay my favorite ADA a surprise visit?"

Favorite? He set the ice bag carefully down on the desk and nudged it away with his fingertips. "What do you need?" Already mentally shuffling his workload around in anticipation of accommodating her, the way he would for any- _almost_ anyone from Manhattan's SVU. She'd come alone so it was probably something sensitive, but he was getting ahead of himself if he started to worry. Hard not to with her track record.

Rollins rolled her eyes before pulling her notebook from her jacket pocket. "Fine, you caught me," she said dryly. "I need your expertise on something." She'd flipped through half the pages before pausing. "It's… Not case-related."

Barba leaned forward, interest piqued. That would make it twice in three days that they'd talked casually. Not that he was counting. Of course, not being tied to a case didn't automatically make it personal, though he couldn't deny being pleased that she'd come to him at all. What did he know that could be of use to her? "Pay the fine," he joked, but her reaction told him nothing.

"Ha ha." She continued turning pages until she finally found what she was looking for. "Now don't make fun, but could you check these translations for me? I don't entirely trust Google," she said, passing the open notebook over to him and scooting her chair closer, foot knocking against the desk.

Scanning the page told him it was Spanish she was paraphrasing, not legalese. "Why didn't you ask Amaro?"

"I… Didn't think that would be the best idea," she said with a strange smile, eyes darting between the notebook and his face.

He almost asked _why_ before his brain caught up with what he was reading; his teeth clicked together when he shut his mouth. _You drive me crazy – I adore you – I want you – Sweetness-_ "Given the context, it's probably more like 'honey,'" he said, picking up his pen to scribble out her literal definition and write in the more appropriate colloquial.

"Ah." Rollins pillowed her cheek in her palm, elbow on his desk as she observed him. "I didn't catch all of it," she said when he reached later, more fragmented lines. "I was a bit busy at the time."

He cleared his throat, pushing aside the temptation to picture how exactly she'd been _busy_ at the same moment a man was saying he craved her mouth. "Well, _somebody_ has good taste in poetry," he said grudgingly, skimming over the Neruda quotes. That definitely eliminated Amaro's involvement; there was no way the man recited poetry once he had a woman in bed.

So Rollins had a new beau who was markedly affectionate. That was… Good. For her. Good for her. If anyone deserved not to be alone…

"Do you recognize it?" Rollins had that intent look on her face he sometimes saw when she was working a suspect. Getting on their good side while discretely pumping them for incriminating information. Her smile grew the longer he was silent, leaving him distinctly nervous.

"I took a class in college," he confessed. "Back when I was young and stupid, I thought it would be a good way to pick up women." He scanned the page, dimly registering that everything written there was something he used to imagine himself saying to… Someone. At some point. If he was lucky.

"I can't imagine you stupid," she said. "Did it work?"

"Not in the least, but I enjoyed it. It was different from everything else I was doing. Softer." Why was he telling her this? No wonder they kept putting her in rooms with lonely perps, she was dangerous. He capped his pen and passed her notebook back.

"Secret romantic, huh?" She folded it shut and tucked it back into her pocket, eyes twinkling when he gave her a _what are you going to do_ shrug. "Do you remember any of it?"

Barba sighed gustily, reclining back in his chair and looking down at the paper-covered desk as though he had to rack his brain. "Hay más altas que tú, más altas," he murmured. "Hay más puras que tú, más puras. Hay más bellas que tú, hay más bellas. Pero tú eres la reina. Cuando vas por… Por…"[1] He trailed off before he got carried away, hoping Rollins would chalk it up to simple forgetfulness. "That's all I've got. It's been a while."

Her eyes were very round and very blue. She was impressed, nothing unwilling about it for once. Not like when he performed some tricky legal reasoning that made it seem like he was showing off, helped the case even as it annoyed the cops.

"If you want a translation of _that_ then I'm going to start charging you hourly," he said, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously, wishing they could return to the nonchalant vibe of before.

"I don't know what I like more, the poetry or the singing," she mused.

His eyes snapped to hers. "What?"

_Bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt._

She ignored him to fumble her phone out of her pocket, swiping her thumb across the screen. "Shit. Just like in grade school, huh? Time's up, gotta run," she said, chair legs scraping against the floor as she pushed back from the desk to get up.

"Wait, Rollins-"

She gave him a wave and a bright smile. Her cheeks were a delicate pink. "Thanks for the insight, Counselor."

"Rollins!" He was up on his feet, leaning dangerously far over his desk to watch her dart out the door and down the hall. " _Rollins!_ "

Barba picked up the ice bag and dropped it, listening to the _plop_.

 _The poetry or the singing_.

Plop.

_You have a lovely voice._

Plop.

_Secret romantic, huh?_

Plop.

_Should've recorded it-_

His hand stilled. 

"Oh my god," he said.

 

"Detective, can I have a word?"

Fin traded puzzled glances with Rollins but closed the door after he left, leaving them alone in the observation room with the underwhelming view of Carisi Mirandizing the suspect in Interrogation 1. It wasn't until he led the perp out in handcuffs that Barba spoke.

"Please stop mocking me."

"What?"

It had been a week since she'd shown up in his office on what he now knew had been a fishing expedition, and since then it had only gotten worse. Nothing she'd said, but… Looks. She kept giving him _looks_. Smug, suggestive looks that made his ears burn. He couldn't face her at all because when he did he remembered that list in her notebook. Was it still there? Did she read it over when she needed a chuckle?

Thanks to the anesthesia he didn't remember saying any of it, but he knew how he would if given the chance. Knew precisely how he'd hold her close, tuck her silky hair behind her ear before whispering, "Quédate conmigo esta noche."

She didn't need to keep reminding him.

Laughing at him.

"Spare me." There was a smudge on the one-way glass; he wiped it off with his thumb. "You did me a favor and I owe you. I wasn't at my best and I apologize. But this has to stop."

Rollins tucked her hands into her pockets. "I don't- What has to stop?" Her confusion was so sincere he almost bought it.

"You know what," he said flatly. "Do I have to spell it out?"

She scowled. "Seems like you do, yeah."

"Before, with the snide little references? The phone call, the impromptu visit. And now, the constant looks. We both know what I said, you don't…" He sighed, tightened his grip defensively on his bag. "Just drop it."

Her scowl lost some of its intensity, resolved into something like understanding. "You think I'm making fun of you."

Barba squared his shoulders, refusing to let himself be shamed. "We're both adults, there's no reason we can't act like professionals-"

"Oh my god," she said faintly. "You think I'm making fun of you? You do!" She pressed her hand to her forehead, mouth dropping open in horror. "Oh my god!"

Was she playing stupid? That wasn't like Rollins. Back her into a corner and she'd confront the truth, not lie to avoid the consequences. What was she doing?

She swept her hair back and started to laugh in a way he'd never heard before, breathy and astonished. He strove not to commit the sound to memory in case it never happened again. Now was not the time for that, he was busy being upset with her.

"At least tell me you haven't told anyone else," Barba said, hating how close to pleading that was. "Liv or- Or Fin…" He knew she hadn't told Amaro, he never would've heard the end of it if she had. _I didn't think that would be the best idea._

"What? No!" Mercifully she stopped laughing to gape at him. "You think I'd do that?" Now _she_ sounded angry. What was happening?

"No?" He shifted his bag from one hand to the other. "I don't know. I have no idea what you'd do."

"And _I_ had no idea _you'd_ get all… Barba after dentist," she said before holding her hands up. "Look. Let's just get one thing clear, okay? Get on the same page?"

"Okay," he said, hand starting to sweat around the handle of his bag.

She pressed her palms together. "I? Am not making fun of you. I have never- Okay, I _did_ tease you a bit, and I'm sorry about that. But I didn't mean to come off so… Mean?"

Now he was just confused. "So when you were in my office getting me to read over-"

Rollins waved her hands, stopping him before he could go any further. "That's- Okay, but I couldn't resist, it was just so weird and kinda cute? And the poetry was hot so I wanted to see if that was like a one-off thing or what? I'm sorry."

His confusion was growing. Weird _and_ kind of cute? _Cute?_ What?

"I wanted to satisfy my curiosity," she continued. "And it was a bit of a shock, you know? You're such a hardass, I had no idea you could be so…" The look she gave him was a lot like the ones she'd been giving him all week but worse because it went from his toes to the top of his head, leaving him blushing like before. "Well. Romantic."

Barba couldn't think. "You don't mind that I said… What I said. When I was out of it."

"No!" She shook her head. Stopped. "I mean, it was certainly a surprise. Like I said, I had no idea, but it didn't _bother_ me." A shy smile broke over her face as she leaned against the door. "It was kind of nice, to be honest, even if you were high as shit and didn't mean any of it. Is that pathetic? It sounds pathetic."

He blinked.

She slipped her hands back in her pockets, swaying back and forth slightly on her heels, smirking freely at him. "If you want my advice, honey, you'll warn the next person who picks you up from surgery before you go telling them they're the love of your life. Don't want the wrong person taking you seriously."

"The next person… Right." It was too hot in their tiny room. He tugged at the knot of his necktie.

She stilled. "Because you don't mean it seriously, right?"

"Right. Of course not," Barba said, sounding strangled even to his own ears. Tugged harder at his necktie. He had to get out of there. Rollins was blocking the door. She looked light though, he could probably pick her up and move her out of the way without much difficulty. He'd thought about picking her up before, but usually in his mind she was helpful and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Her eyes widened. "You…" She looked him over again. Toes to the top of his head. "You _didn't_ mean any of it, did you? It was the drugs. They made you all…"

There was no telling what would come out of his mouth now, but this time he had the good sense to keep it shut. Unlike last time, when it had betrayed him.

"Oh my god." Suddenly she couldn't look at him, and he couldn't look anywhere but at her. Was he blushing as furiously as she was? It felt like it.

"I have to go." That was his voice. He didn't remember saying anything. When had that become normal for him around her? He had to get out of this room.

"That's why you were so…" Bewildered, Rollins stared out at the empty interrogation room, a crease in her brow. "You're in love with me?"

This was not how he'd ever pictured this conversation going, not when he'd still dared to picture it. Before he'd totally given up, he'd indulged himself by imagining something… Different. Maybe they'd be working late, going over evidence in his office, and they'd fall asleep on the couch together, snuggled in close by instinct, her hand on his chest. She'd wake him up in the early morning with a cup of strong coffee and he'd say, "Oh thank god, I love you," and she'd just smile and say, "I know," and that would be it.

Or maybe after years of working together, and somehow ending up friends, and one day he'd ask her out for a drink after a tough case and she'd say yes, and then they'd just… Fall into it. Dating. Because not everything has to be difficult. They're difficult people, separately at least, but maybe they'd cancel each other out and it would be easy, and when he finally said anything it would be natural and expected and she wouldn't look the way she did now. So shocked.

He'd never pictured _this_. Not this confession by default, something pieced together from his own clumsy, juvenile reactions, her observations, and blind chance. Not in this glorified closet after watching the latest monster confess to the latest stack of unforgiveable crimes.

Not with him saying, "I'm not." And then having to clarify, because she didn't look like she believed him in the least: "I'm not in love with you." _Te adoro._ "I have to go."

"You thought I was making fun of you," she whispered, crossing her arms. "You were so sensitive."

 _Mi amor._ "I don't respond well to anesthesia." His phone was buzzing in his pocket; he ignored it. "Rollins…" _Mi tesoro._

She touched her cheek. "You kissed me."

 _Tengo hambre de tu boca._ "I'm not," he said for the last time. In his dreams, back when he still had any, she'd never put distance between them the way she did now when he advanced on her, desperate to get to the door, out of this room too full of words. Hand on the doorknob, he paused, fist tight around the handle of his bag. Pressed his forehead to the door. "They should've given me a local," he muttered.

"Barba-"

It was his turn to leave.

 

* * *

 

[1] There are taller than you, taller. There are purer than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen. When you go through…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry is from Pablo Neruda's "The Queen."


	3. Chapter 3

Nobody stared when she filed out of the room alone, once her shock had faded. Barba was already long gone; it wasn't unusual to see the ADA in a hurry, and if he was moving fast enough no one would've noticed his red face or vague despair.

Rollins returned to her desk, projecting what she hoped was an air of normalcy. Not very successfully judging by how Fin was considering her.

"What's up?" He tipped his head to the elevator. "Barba giving you problems?"

"No, course not," Rollins said, rifling through folders blindly. "The case is air-tight, there's no reason-"

"I wasn't talking about the case." Fin leaned forward on his elbows. "Rollins, you know I've got your back, right?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, waiting to see what followed after that declaration. When he didn't say anything, she gestured, "But?"

"But what? That's it, that's all I've got to say." Fin started clicking around on his laptop like he was getting back to very important work, smirk playing over his lips.

"That's it? Seriously?" She resisted the urge to ask if he'd overheard anything, knowing that would be showing her cards. Besides, the observation room wasn't the crib; the walls weren't thin and they hadn't exactly been shouting their feelings at each other for everyone in the station to hear.

 _Their_ feelings? She didn't have any feelings. Besides confusion. And a tiny amount of guilt. And… No, mostly just confusion.

"You want more? How about 'fishin' off the company pier-'"

"Whoa, whoa." She waved him quiet, checking to see if anyone else had heard that, but of course they were all working hard. Except for Carisi, hitting on the recently cried-out civilian with the streaky eyeshadow over by the Coke machine. "Detective Tutuola, I think you've got the wrong idea."

Fin rolled his eyes, not looking away from the screen as his typing gained speed. "Please, I've got eyes. And I've seen how you've been using yours lately." When he finally looked at her it was to give her a slow shake of his head. "You're a big girl. Now, do you really want me to say anything else?"

" _No_ ," she said, wishing she hadn't asked. "No."

"A'ight."

Rollins waited him out another moment just in case before huffing and flicking her pen so it rolled away and then back thanks to the crookedness of the desk.

_I'm not in love with you._

In hindsight, his defensiveness made perfect sense. He had a lot of pride, most of it entirely deserved as far as she could see; from his perspective she'd probably stomped on it quite a bit over the last week. Not deliberately, but maybe she had gone too far. That happened sometimes, she didn't know how to stop and- But if she'd _known_ -

_I'm not. I'm not._

Barba had never lied to her before; there was no reason she shouldn't believe him now. But that sword just kept on cutting. Everything he'd said, did; the gentle ways he'd touched her… She couldn't just say _drugs do strange things to people_ and leave it at that. It didn't feel honest, especially not in light of how he'd reacted that afternoon.

So he didn't love her. Fine. More than fine, because that would've been weird and unprofessional and out of the blue. What she knew about him could be listed on one hand, and what he knew about _her_ was… Less than flattering. Far less. Nothing loveable there.

He wasn't in love with her. Good. That made her life less complicated, because she was still trying to get it in order and she really didn't need to get involved with anyone. Especially not anyone she worked with, not again and not so soon after she and Nick… Quietly imploded or whatever it is they'd done.

Self-improvement first, dating second. Just like every self-help book she'd read this year said. Self first, men second. All two-and-a-half of the books she'd finished had been firm on that point.

Not that she _would_ date Barba because he was… Barba. ADA Rafael Barba. Frequently demanding, fast-talking, smart-alecky… With a secret soft side and a working knowledge of romantic poetry. And yeah, maybe she'd been engaging in a little re-examination of him over the last week, trying to square the marshmallow interior with the cranky, well-dressed exterior, but… The point remained.

It was a good point. Solid. Like the length of his body pressed up against hers in his bedroom, his smooth lips on her cheek a contrast to the faint scrape of stubble when his jaw-

"I like Barba," Fin said idly, pausing in his furious typing to read back what he'd written, finger moving line by line over the screen.

"Oh?" Rollins flicked her pen, listened to it roll noisily down the desk.

"Yeah. He's got his shit locked down, you know?" Satisfied, he resumed typing. "Always nice to see in this job."

"Mm." There was that. He didn't have a gambling problem, a drinking problem, or issues with anger management. Barba appeared to be issue-free, at least on the surface. In fact, Rollins could only think of one other time when his personal life had gotten tangled up with his professional life in the length of their acquaintance, and he'd done the right thing. The tough thing, but the _right_ thing. Because that's who Barba was. Honorable. Professional to a fault.

And he wasn't in love with her. But he liked her. More than the average person did for no reason she understood. Given the chance, he'd do the honorable, _professional_ thing again. Or at least try to.

Rollins stopped her pen midway down the desk.

 

The difference between a snap decision and going with her gut was not a measure of time, but success. Taking that halftime line on the Giants? Terrible split-second decision, lost her grandmother's wedding rings to a pawn shop in the process, never again. Chasing down a lead on that perp who rubbed her the wrong way? "Good instincts, Detective, I'll be sure to put your name in for a citation."

Helping her sister _ever_? Always done out of a combination of harebrained familial loyalty, sisterly responsibility, and plain old bone-deep exhaustion. _Maybe this'll be the last time_. Wrong. Always wrong, and Rollins knew it.

But asking Barba out because she knew he'd never make the first move? She wasn't sure yet what kind of decision _that_ was, but it certainly wasn't one she acted on immediately. By normal people's logic that automatically kept it from being a snap decision, didn't it? So by process of elimination…

Really, it had to be her newfound zen outlook that kept her from jumping in with both feet and making a fool of herself. Instead she played devil's advocate and looked for reasons _not_ to date Barba, but five days of that left her realizing all the yoga in the world couldn't do anything for her contrary nature because knowing she shouldn't do something left her wanting to more than ever. Worth discussing with her therapist?

At least Barba was treating her normally again – which meant looking her in the face while he told her all the ways her case was weak, and done without any blushing whatsoever.

She missed it, she realized, nodding along as he ranted about missing surveillance footage. He looked cute all flushed and hesitant. Barba never got like that, he was always so polished, so self-assured. Maybe too self-assured sometimes.

Take that very moment for instance. Standing there with a hand on his hip, almost gleeful as he tore into a decent and, given the brass's current stance on overtime, well-worked case. Going on about hearsay and flimsy circumstantial evidence, how _he_ wasn't about to walk into court and risk _his_ reputation trying to mount a prosecution based on _their_ weak suppositions, and… Her attention was wandering.

The sight of Barba snatching up a dry erase marker to scribble out one suspect's name on the board should not have led to Rollins remembering how he carefully translated scraps of poetry for her, or how he touched her, with a tenderness that had just depressed her. He never touched anyone if he could avoid it, now that she'd bothered to notice.

And speaking of noticing things, she really shouldn't have been _noticing_ his ass in those pants when he leaned down to scrawl a case reference into a bit of empty space. Certainly shouldn't have been comparing it to how he'd looked in jeans but she hadn't been paying attention then. Well, no more than she usually did. Checking him out when he was tripping balls had whiffed of the immoral.

This is why dating people you work with is a bad idea, she thought absently as the rest of her brain continued to log Barba's rapidly-growing list of complaints. Had she been like this with Nick? She'd gone pretty far over the line for him, no denying that, but she couldn't remember doing anything like this schoolgirl shit.

There hadn't been any real softness. No whispered endearments of any sort in any language. No poetry. No 90s love songs, no hopeless longing. The only desperation they'd felt had been to momentarily forget – about their shitty jobs or their shitty lives. Never _for_ each other. Was that… Rollins didn't know what to do with any of that, but she knew that she liked it. Or liked the _idea_ of it.

Instead, her relationship with Nick had followed a much more familiar trajectory: they worked together, joked around, butted heads a _lot_ (loudly and in public), fucked a bunch (loudly and in private), and then he went back to his family and/or she acted out and/or… Something. She still wasn't entirely sure what the dealbreaker had been, but they were back where they started. Colleagues who'd seen each other naked and didn't have much to show for it. At least their shared history was a lot better than what she had with other people.

Did she really want to risk that a… For fuck's sake, Rollins couldn't even say "second time." Second time in _this_ department, and Barba knew full well how it had gone for her in other precincts. By rights he should've been running for the hills at the prospect of getting involved with her.

The city was huge, there were loads of other men in it she could date. Other perfectly decent men she didn't work with. Somewhere. Just because she hadn't seen them didn't mean they didn't exist. Were they all upstate?

"Get the tapes," Barba said, turning away from the dry erase board. "Get the tapes and I'll give your case a second look, but until you have something _concrete-_ Damnit." He'd fumbled the marker as he capped it, and it hit the floor with a weak bounce, skittering across the wood towards her. They both reached for it at the same time; she beat him to it by a nose.

"Butterfingers," she said, passing it back to him. He smelled nice. Like always.

He swallowed when their fingers touched before he stepped away, gripping the marker tightly. "Thanks." Looked away from her harmless smile to murmur, "Tapes."

"Right." As if she needed the reminder. She knew what she was about.

"We'll get 'em, don't worry about it," Fin said from somewhere behind her. Hopefully not close enough to see her smile go a little stupid at how Barba was fidgeting with the marker, clicking the cap on and off.

He was still fidgeting when she left Fin by the elevators to duck back into his office. "Find them already?" He didn't leave off his examination of the board.

"Ha," she said, tucking her hands in her pockets. "No."

"Then-"

"Have a drink with me." There wasn't a hint of a question in it. Was that presumptuous? "If you want. Do you want to have a drink with me?" That was better. Much more polite. Her grandmamma would be proud.

He still didn't turn around. Who was being rude now? "That's not a good idea."

"Okay." She nodded. "Weeknight, early riser, I get it. Coffee?"

His head turned slightly towards her. Progress. "That's not it."

Still hadn't said no, and now she _was_ going to be rude, but only because he was forcing her to be. "For someone so smart you can be awfully dumb."

 _That_ got his attention, not to mention some outrage and crossed arms. He had his sleeves rolled up, it wasn't nearly as intimidating as he probably thought. "I am _not-_ "

"And _I'm_ not the only person working on this case, remember?" She smiled winningly at him. "Have coffee with me, let me smooth those ruffled feathers of yours, and I promise you can list all the other reasons we shouldn't go out. I'll even pretend to listen."

His annoyed expression settled into something much more like shock. She'd seen that happen in court when the defense counsel pulled something out of left field that thoroughly boggled his brain. "With an offer like that, how can I refuse?" Barba asked slowly, playing for time.

Rollins wasn't going to give him any. "Great, text you later, Counselor," she said, turning on her heel. "I've got work to do. Something about tapes? Someone said something about tapes."

Fin was still waiting by the elevator, leaning against the wall and playing what looked like Frogger on his phone. "All good?"

She hit the illuminated button again. Just in case it needed the extra encouragement. "All good."

 

Rollins wasn't sure _what_ to expect, spinning her coffee spoon in wobbling circles on the laminate tabletop. It was lateish, after eight. Way past supper time, but she'd gotten out late; should she have said tomorrow? If she said tomorrow Barba wouldn't have agreed, just like he probably wouldn't have agreed to dinner. Dinner was serious. Dinner was a _date_ -date. He was still too riled up for dinner.

This wasn't… Yes, it was.

Rollins checked her phone again. 8:38PM. Closed the browser window she'd left open on Spanish phrases before pocketing her phone again.

Did he have second thoughts? He wouldn't _dare_ stand her up. He wouldn't, he said he'd be there-

"Coffee, thanks," she heard right before Barba hung up his coat on the hook behind her. "Last-minute plea deal," he said, collapsing onto the bench across from her, and that was all the apology she needed, which was good because it was all he was likely to give. Which… Was fine, Rollins realized, watching with a growing concern as he seized the steaming cup the waitress served him and began to pour a steady stream of sugar into his black coffee before stirring it with a barely contained mania. Over and over until she worried how much sugar he was going to end up with at the bottom of his cup.

The moment the waitress left after topping off Rollins's own mug, Barba slumped back in the booth to gaze blankly at her. He looked worn out – a little wrinkled, a lot harried; he was still holding his wet spoon like he'd forgotten he had it. His hair was a bit mussed, a lock of it curling over his forehead, escaped from his usual tidy coif. It had been windy out when she'd come inside; maybe it still was. Rollins hadn't been paying much attention to her surroundings, too busy fretting.

She'd asked her sort of superior colleague out on a date, she was allowed to fret. Especially when she kept waffling between _what have you got to worry about, he's totally basically in love with you, it's a sure thing_ and _oh my god, Amanda, he said that under the influence, doesn't count! Inadmissible! He recanted! Nobody is a sure thing!_

"Hi yourself," she said belatedly, giving him a little wave before warming her hand on the side of her full mug to keep from playing with the cutlery more than she already had.

"Hi. Sorry. Hi," and there was that smile she'd seen the first time in the dental office. The sweet one, and if it was slower to appear this time around and was a touch more sheepish, that was fine too. Rollins might have liked it more for all of that.

 

Coffee, it turned out, was a bad idea. Caffeine, the anxiety of a first date – a sure thing but still, and was she already thinking _first_ date? As in first in a series? – or maybe just simple excitement had left her wide awake at the wrong time of night.

And it _was_ night now. The city had shifted into a different gear beyond the diner windows and carried on without them as they kept the booth warm, the waitress seemingly happy to keep refilling their cups. Eventually bringing them menus when they finally admitted they were both starving and had no intentions of leaving, then mediocre salads with too few croutons, followed by far better soups and sandwiches, not amazing but satisfying the way thick, homey food can be. More coffee, coffee the whole time but especially with dessert because it was a _must_ and they were definitely having dessert, pie à la mode for both of them.

"I haven't had peach pie since I left Georgia," Rollins admitted, taking a forkful and considering it. All this sugar so late in the night was going to make sleeping impossible, but it was too much fun to indulge to stop.

"How does it compare?" Barba had gone for cherry and was happily and shamelessly shoveling it in. After years of working lunches and dinners neither of them had any of the lingering self-consciousness about eating that sometimes cropped up in more awkward first dates. There wasn't any awkwardness at all, actually. They were… Comfortable. Together.

She chewed thoughtfully. "Better than mama ever made, that's for sure. Here, try-" and she leaned forward with her reloaded fork, hand cupped below it.

He hesitated, eyes flicking between the fork and her face. The copious amounts of coffee had perked him back up but his natural guardedness had returned in equal measure. Mostly. It slipped from time to time. Like now, when he leaned forward over the table in turn, his fingers light on her hand to steady the fork. "Not bad," he pronounced after, sitting back and licking his lips before dabbing them with his paper napkin.

She took a little scoop of half-melted ice cream, smirking to herself. "How do you say 'not bad' in Spanish?"

His eyes narrowed. "'No está mal,'" he said. "Or 'está bien.' Same difference."

"Glass half-full kind of thing, huh?" she asked, getting a shrug in response. "I think I like está bien better. Shorter. Easier to remember."

He said nothing, eating the last of his pie. His ice cream was long gone, devoured first. Barba had been successfully concealing a secret sweet tooth for the last few years.

"What about 'ice cream?' 'Pie?' How do you order pie in Spanish?"

Barba laughed, licking his fork. "Oh, _I_ get it now. This was just a smokescreen to get in another language lesson." He clucked his tongue, fork waving back and forth. "I told you I'd charge you hourly, and I didn't mean in food. Food is for favors, not for tutoring."

"Caught me red-handed," she said, recrossing her legs under the table. "Couldn't you do it pro bono?"

"Not that kind of lawyer, thankfully," he said, nose crinkling with his smug grin.

"No?" That wasn't the table leg her foot brushed; she saw it in his face. She smiled at him, slid her foot up what had to be the outside of his calf. "We both know I can't afford you on a detective's salary. Cut me a deal?"

There was that blush she'd missed – it reappeared when she dragged her foot back down, slower than before, the toe of her boot barely pressing against his pant leg. "'Helado,'" he said, then cleared his throat, setting his fork down on the plate. "'Helado de vainilla' in this case."

"Helado." That wasn't so hard. She could… She would not remember that tomorrow. She quickly scanned the table, shifting her foot over to sweep it back up the inside of his leg. "I know 'coffee,' that's easy, but what about 'sugar?'"

"'Azúcar.'" He folded his disposable napkin and set it on top of his fork and empty pie plate.

"That's not what you called me, though," she pointed out, tapping her toe thoughtfully against the inside of his calf. And she'd thought dinner would be too much too fast; here they were, barreling right along. "What if I wanted to call _you_ 'sugar?'"

"'Cariño,'" he said quietly.

"Cariño," she repeated. "That sounds familiar. And 'dulzura' is 'honey,' right? The person, not the thing."

"Correct. Rollins…" There was something in his expression she couldn't quantify. It looked close to what she'd seen when she'd gone to him in his bedroom, touched his hair and made him think he had a chance. That had been a mistake.

She didn't think she was making one now. Call it gut instinct.

"I'm sorry, you're right," she said, dropping her foot back to the floor, ignoring how his shoulders slumped. "You said no more freebies and I took advantage of you." She wiggled in her seat to pull her phone out of her back pocket and show it to him before clicking it on. "Siri," Rollins said, making sure to enunciate clearly so the damn phone wouldn't mishear her. "How do you say 'I want you to fuck me' in Spanish?"

She didn't get to hear the response.

"Oh my god," he muttered, rolling his eyes before reaching out to push her phone away and hold her chin lightly as he leaned over the table to kiss her.


	4. Chapter 4

"Wait, I-" she panted into his ear, leg sliding precariously between his spread thighs. "Wait, wait."

He leaned back against the seat, affecting an interested expression and biting his lip so he wouldn't go back to kissing her neck. Hopefully the cold snap would linger; she was going to be wearing turtlenecks for the next few days.

"I forgot to ask: _why_ didn't you want to do this again?" Rollins trailed her finger over the upper curve of his ear; was her question meant to be rhetorical? It was hard to think with her touching him. "You acted like- You must have had your reasons, you're a reasonable guy."

Her lipstick was gone but her lips were still pink from kissing him. Had it disappeared slowly over dinner or had he kissed the rest of it away? Was it on his neck? Shirt collar? His eyes moved down _her_ neck, _her_ shirt collar… His eyebrows rose; he had a pocket square the color of her bra.

"Barba." She chucked him with her knuckle, tilting his head back up. "C'mon, tell me. You're not a chickenshit, I know there was _something_."

"I'm too old for you," he blurted out, the first thing that came to mind and, coincidentally, what he'd worried over the most. Immediately felt like an idiot when she snorted, mouth twitching with amusement.

She leaned in close, nuzzling his cheek before whispering into his ear, "Maybe I like it. Maybe I'm tired of little boys who don't know what they want." Her hand pressed down the length of his tie to rest on his belt buckle as she nipped at his earlobe, making him gasp. "Maybe I want to call you 'papi.'"

The noise he made caught the cabbie's attention, and they locked eyes briefly in the rearview mirror before the driver shook his head slowly and went back to his business. Blushing furiously, Barba caught her hand before she could get any further ideas. "That was terrible," he said, kissing her wrist in an attempt to hide his grin. "Really, really bad."

She laughed, pulling her hand away easily, leaning hard against him, practically in his lap. All over him the moment they got in the car. If she was planning on using him for sex he would raise no objections. "You say that, but-"

He sucked in a breath as she rubbed his cock through his pants; he'd been right to be concerned.

"-I don't want you thinkin' I'm a good girl," Rollins finished, grinning crookedly when he rocked into her palm after she squeezed him.

Christ, they were going to get arrested. They were in a _taxi cab_. He was now one of _those_ people. "I know you're not," he breathed, staring at her mouth. He didn't say _you're better than that – you're a good woman._ Despite being true, and God knew if anyone was aware of it he was, it would come out wrong. Insincere, the timing all wrong, or too intense. Another reason he'd been sure it wouldn't work: they were too off-balance. He was too invested, he'd scare her away for sure.

Or so he'd thought. Circumstances were forcing him to reconsider.

"So the age thing," Rollins started to list, sounding thoughtful, totally at odds with how she was still groping him. "But I'm guessing the coworker thing was the strongest part of your argument, right?"

He nodded when she did, fingers digging into the sleeves of her winter coat. "We _are_ working a case together as we speak, but besides that it's not- Ah! Not a very strong case when you lay it out that way," he said, breathing harder the longer she teased him, forgetting the rest of his reasons for staying silent. They weren't important. They were stupid. Besides, that's what disclosure was for.

"Hm, no," she agreed. "'Fraid I'll have to dismiss it."

He couldn't take anymore – he grabbed her wrist, tugged her hand away from his crotch before moving to kiss her cheek. "Is this what I have to look forward to? Endless law jokes?"

That playful grin again, the one he lo- Liked. "I have a rotten-" she didn't get it out in time before he was kissing her on the mouth, pulling her further into his lap, completely oblivious to their surroundings until a sudden banging startled them into separating.

"We're here," the cabbie said again, glaring at them through the partition.

Rollins slid away and across the seat to the passenger side door, opening it. "I'll let you handle this," she said, fixing her coat before getting out, leaving Barba to fumble out his wallet and pull his bag into his lap, hoping to spare himself any further indignity.

 

"How do you say," she gasped as he sucked a kiss into the soft skin just below her earlobe. "What's 'take off your clothes'?"

"'Quítate la ropa,'" he breathed against her neck, fingers sliding down the front of her body to pluck at the buttons of her shirt, helping her along because his whole job was about being of service to others.

"I didn't quite get that, say again?" Rollins pulled his shirt out of his pants before pushing her hand up and under his shirt, feeling the smooth skin of his lower back before shoving her hand down over the back of his pants to grab his ass, surprising him.

The noise Barba made was dangerously close to a giggle, almost the same noise he'd made in the garage when he was knocked out on anesthesia. But of course he'd have no way of knowing that. "'Quítate la ropa,'" he said again, reaching around to grab her hand and guide it back to the wall he had her pressed up against, fingers interlocking with hers.

She moaned, steadied herself by clutching his shoulder tight enough to wrinkle his shirt before jerking at the material. "Go on then," Rollins said. "Off with your ropa."

 

"Wait, wait. Stop."

"What? Are you- Am I- What?" He looked up when Rollins pulled insistently on his hair. Once they'd made it the bedroom, clothes shed along the way, he'd had one thing in mind. No more time-wasting. "What?"

She smoothed her hand over his head, scratching her nails against his scalp deliciously. His hair was finally long enough to look ridiculous when she did that, and judging by her amused expression he could imagine how much of a disaster it presently was. "How do you say 'you give excellent head' in Spanish?"

Barba groaned, dropped his head forward to press against her pelvis, exhaling hot against her body as he laughed smugly, making her shiver. "I'm buying you a dictionary. Remind me later: buy dictionary."

"They make- Oh Christ," she moaned when he went back to licking her clit, putting a temporary end to her questions. He normally had a healthy appreciation for her curiosity, her driving need to know, but right now he was more interested in how she moved under him, the arrhythmic way she rocked her hips up, trembled under his mouth. How she kept messing with his hair, not pulling but just holding on, and he released her flexing thigh to grab her hand, slot their fingers together again on the bed by her hip as she started to shake, cries growing more fervent. Sounding the way he'd imagined sometimes, late at night when he was at his loneliest, his most pathetic.

Afterwards, breathing hard, Rollins tugged at his hand. "C'mere," she said, patting the bed next to her, and he didn't care about appearing too eager when he hurried to join her on the wrinkled sheets, pull her close. She was sweating freely, flushed and slippery smooth when their bodies pressed together; he groaned into her mouth as he rubbed his hard-on against her, felt her small hands roam over his body. Now that he could touch her he didn't know where to start, spoiled for choice and incapable of thinking when she pushed her hand between them to fist his cock at an agonizingly slow pace.

"Yo quiero…" she started, voice huskier than he'd ever heard it before.

"You can just say 'quiero,' you know," he pointed out, eyes clenching shut when she stroked him, pushed him back with a hand at his chest to lie against the bed. "Yo is redundant." That Taco Bell dog had a lot to answer for.

He could _hear_ her eyeroll. "Quiero tu… Tu…"

That was half a very simple sentence right there; he couldn't help feeling hopeful, staring up at her and panting when she rubbed the underside of his cock, looking preoccupied.

"Quiero tu… " Then she shrugged, fingers curling back around his shaft. "Dick? What's the word for 'dick?'" She almost looked sorry she let him down at the last second. But that wasn't why he covered his face. Had he really started blushing at _dick_? He was forty-five years old. He'd had one all his life. It was not something to be blushing at, especially not in the present context.

"Wow." The word was muffled by his hands over his face. Maybe if he hid long enough she'd think he was embarrassed for _her._ It was worth a shot.

"I almost said 'cock' but I thought you'd give me the word for 'rooster' just to screw with me," she said, not sounding the least bit ashamed as her hand began to speed up.

So much for that. He dropped his hands, cheeks hotter than ever. "I would _never-_ " Thought about and grinned, only for it to disappear into an open-mouthed moan. "Yeah, okay, yes, I would've. Maybe. If- if it had occurred to me."

"See? I knew it." Rollins leaned in closer, their legs tangling together. Seemingly content to play with him, and he wasn't going to tell her to stop. Not when he'd fantasized about- Well, not this _exact_ scenario. This was better than what he'd come up with.

"Have you ever heard of Duolingo?" he asked, rubbing a knuckle against the side of her breast, marveling at how soft her skin was. Softer than he'd imagined. "It's free."

"You know, I checked it out?" She propped herself up on her elbow, reclining half on him so her breasts pressed against his chest and she could tug his cock lazily, watching his face. "But wouldn't you know it, there's no section on what to say when I'm fucking you! So I gave it a pass."

The noise he made in response would've ordinarily been mortifying had she not punctuated that statement by licking her palm and rubbing the head of his cock. "Wha- what the hell was I thinking?" Barba managed weakly. "That site is clearly useless."

"My thoughts exactly. Besides, immersion is always the better option for learning a new language, isn't it?" She let him go to rub her hand over his stomach, up his side before she hooked her leg over his waist and straddled him, heavier than he'd expected.

"Uh huh?" He had to look up, admiring the view as she gathered her hair in her hands, twisted it before shoving it over her shoulder and resting her hands on his waist, not realizing how close she came to tickling him.

"Mmhm." Rollins bit her lip, shifting atop him. He was almost painfully hard, between her legs but not inside her. Not yet anyway, just a tease of heat and wetness and pressure. "You know. Hands-on tutoring, that kind of thing," she said, reaching down to grip his cock gently.

He gasped when she pumped it, eyes falling briefly shut. "Oh god, and you had the nerve to say my lines were bad."

"I said nothing of the sort," and there was no point arguing with her, not now. Heavier, slicker, hotter, better than any of his imaginings, and when he slid his hands up her spread thighs, her hips, up her waist to cup her breasts, she let out the kind of gusty sigh of contentment he'd never expected.

"Te adoro." It slipped out in a murmur, and his heart froze in his chest, sure he'd made a mistake, gone too far. Because she'd know what that meant – she had her little cheat sheet that he'd personally helped her out with.

But instead of laughing at him like before, Rollins took his hand in hers and drew it up to her face as she rode him slowly, kissed his wrist before he brushed his fingertips against her sweat-damp temple. "Say it again," she whispered, jump-starting his heart. "Say something else."

He'd say anything she wanted now. "Eres hermosa, querida," the first thing that came to mind, and she moaned, clutched his hand and pressed it to her breast.[1] "Pienso en ti todo el tiempo."[2] It felt like the best kind of confession as they moved faster together.

"More," she said, curving over him as he pinched her nipples, expression hungry as she stared down at him. "C'mon, just-"

"Te deseo," he said, groaning when she clenched deeply around him.[3] Dropped his hands from her chest to hold her hips so he could thrust up harder, coax more of those breathy sounds from her that were growing rapidly louder and more unsteady. "Mi- mi querida, eres divina."[4]

" _Fuck_." Her fingernails bit into his shoulder as she tensed over him. "Say- Oh god."

He covered her hand with his own, gathered her close as she whined. "Necesito que te vienes, amor, es todo lo que necesito," he whispered to her, pressing his face to her messy hair, kissing her cheek as he groped her ass, shoving into her.[5] "Come on, Amanda, niña-"[6]

"Oh my _god_." She twisted in his arms to kiss him deeply, sob into his mouth and shudder against him, around him, and whatever rhythm they'd established fell apart as he fucked her through it, listened to her broken whimpers and dragged his fingertips up and down the line of her spine compulsively.

"That's it, sugar," she said before she licked his neck, kissed it, rocking with the force of his strokes. "That's- Oh. _Oh._ "

It was her surprised exclamation, the sudden trembling that overtook her, that pushed him over the edge, and he clutched at her as he came, breaths rattling out of him as he strained and jerked against her.

Neither of them stirred for long moments after. Rollins might've been too tired to, but he was… Happy. To stay where he was. To leave his arms wrapped around her, looser than before as he breathed in the smell of her hair, her sweat, her much-faded perfume. Comfortable under her weight. She really wasn't heavy at all.

She mumbled something against his neck, her hands tucked up between their chests, fingers tracing over his chest.

"What?" He canted his head to look at her face, took in her tired but mischievous smile and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Está bien," Rollins repeated, smile broadening into a grin when he rolled his eyes and sighed overdramatically, let his arms drop away from her.

"Are you serious?"

She snickered, leaning up to draw idle circles on his chest with her fingertip. "Buy me a dictionary and next time I'll have more to say."

 

* * *

 

[1] You're gorgeous, darling.

[2] I think about you all the time.

[3] I want you.

[4] My dear, you're divine.

[5] I need you to come, love, it's all that I need.

[6] Baby girl


	5. Epilogue

The hold music was horrible yet hypnotizing, so when the book thumped onto her desk she was caught completely flat-footed. _The Red-Hot_ \- She looked up at Barba, standing next to her desk, hand in his pocket. He was wearing the sort of self-satisfied smirk that usually emerged when he'd accomplished some particularly clever bit of legal maneuvering.

"For your…" He paused, smile faltering as he thought hard for a moment before he continued, a hint of doubt in his voice: "Continuing education?"

Phone handset pressed to her shoulder, she leaned back in her chair, thumbing the edges of the pages, listening to the rapid flutter of the paper. "Only if you'll be my study buddy, Counselor."

He snorted, but there was a touch of pink to his ears as he looked down, tapping his bag against his leg. "I have an appointment with the dentist tomorrow. A follow-up. Meet me after?"

"Sure." Her smile widened at his hopefulness. "I'll give you a lift home."


End file.
